Usually when you dance around in a circle and make everyone in the circle take turns at doing a speciality dance in the centre, you are drunk. Powered by alcohol, you take on superhuman abilities – this is how cidered tramps manage to throw shopping trolleys onto high tree branches. My speciality dance is the squatting and lunging of the Cossack. I’m not sure if real Cossacks do it, but it’s the one where you have one leg stretched in front of you, while you squat down on the other one. Then you leap in the air with the bent leg, and reverse legs. It’s amazingly hard to do, and murders your quadriceps. It is only possible for me after I decide it’s a good idea to do it, which is generally after I take on superhuman invincible immortal strenght, which is generally after I’m on the wrong side of a bottle of hard liquor.
This morning I went to boxing training and discovered I don’t punch like a girl after holding the punch bag for a girl. I punch much softer than a girl. Then I went to a fine breakdancing class at the Ground Zero of urban dance. The class consisted of the ever agile Blitz, (real name Jebediah Ramsbottom – probably) four kids under ten, and two growed-ups. The end of the class saw a freestyle section, with everyone in a circle. I was on an adrenaline high from the day’s activities, and wheeled out my Cossack dancing. Down I fell to the one legged squatting. My legs felt like they’ve had ten rounds of Prince Naseem rather than a fortifying ten rounds with the king of beers. I went down. There I stayed to the amusement of the class, unable to get up. I tried to turn it into a floor-based helicopter dance, but my legs had given in, and where no longer capable of a Texas two step, let alone the New York five step or the rotary six step. I stuck to ballet for my next free-style dance interpretation. No-one knew that I knew nothing about ballet.